


a movie with ghosts only it's not a horror movie and in fact there are no ghosts in the movie at all

by painting



Series: ghost up ghost out [2]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: What luck, Charlie thinks, for a movie buff to die and get stuck haunting the only theatre in north-central Illinois that exclusively plays the kinds of movies that were too atrocious to make it to the box office literally anywhere else. At least, that's what he's assuming has happened.





	a movie with ghosts only it's not a horror movie and in fact there are no ghosts in the movie at all

**Author's Note:**

> all you need to know: charlie is great at staying still. elijah fidgets

Charlie used to have a big problem with movie theaters.

It wasn’t so much the noise or the darkness or the prices or the requirement for sustained attention that came with sitting down for two hours to watch a film, but the newness and fake-sterility had always bothered the hell out of him. Something about a new building being so quickly desecrated by crumbs and footprints and shredded, sticky receipts always drove him crazy, no matter how many times he reminded himself that he was being irrational and the whole thing was par for the course with a space like that. He’d still go, but he usually wasn’t very happy about it.

When he was a teenager, he’d gotten a job at the very old, very crumbly theater in Cherry Valley, just outside of the south side of town. For whatever reason, that one didn’t perturb him so badly. Probably because it was ancient and small, and already falling apart so the mess and all of the disgusting movie theater components seemed more synchronized. He still didn’t want to touch anything, but just standing inside the space had him feeling a lot more comfortable than he'd be at one of the big box theaters, the kind with a fancy electronic screen showcasing which movies were playing that day and when. That, and the local rumors of a haunted projection room that he only got to see once.

He tries to pay for Elijah’s ticket when they reach the front of the line, but Elijah’s not having it.

“Come on,” Charlie insists. “I invited you here.”

Elijah pokes his elbow into the side of Charlie’s arm. “Yeah, and I agreed to come. I wanted a chance to use my, um. Hm.” He stops himself and makes a contemplative face, pulling his lips into a thin line, looking off to the side and then at the ceiling. He seems to drop his thought as he turns to the boy working the box office. “Um, just one please.”

He doesn’t even have to say the name of the movie, because the theater is on its last legs and only keeps one projection room open for weeknight evening showings. Charlie pays right after him and they decide to skip the snacks after Elijah flip-flops on sharing a drink for almost half a minute, realizing in the end that seven dollars isn’t worth a bizarre, watery milkshake.

(Charlie tells him that the milkshakes here aren’t blended, and last time he checked they were serving up paper cups full of skim milk with a couple ounces of soft serve sitting at the bottom.)

“You excited?” Charlie asks as they make their way up the steps toward the back row of seats. The previews aren’t running yet and the theater is mostly empty, save for a couple of groups of high schoolers and stragglers on dates.

“God, yes,” Elijah says, sounding a little breathless for dramatic effect. “You said this movie was really bad. You called it a ‘POS’.”

“It’s so terrible!” Charlie confirms cheerfully. The movie really is a POS. Not exactly shitty enough to be called an honest-to-god piece of shit, but the softer abbreviated version suits it perfectly. Elijah picks a set of seats in the column off to the side and heads for one toward the middle. Charlie sits down next to him and neither he nor Elijah pulls the armrest down between them. “It’s one of the _1313_ movies. I think the director just films them in his mansion, and they re-use a bunch of the same shots and the acting’s just abysmal. Kind of like a porno but without the sex? It’s not even like, a B-movie. It’s a C-movie. A D-movie.”

“An F movie,” Elijah supplies.

“Yes!”

“I can’t wait.”

Charlie watches as Elijah curls one of his legs up onto the seat and crosses his arms over it. He’d found David DeCoteau’s _1313_ series years ago when it’d been streaming on Netflix, over a dozen horribly produced, unprofessional films all done on the same set. None of his friends had been quite as interested as Charlie was, though, and the films had disappeared off of Netflix so quickly that he would have thought he dreamed them up himself until getting word that the Cherry Valley theater was holding a screening.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Elijah expressed his enthusiasm right away, because of course he’d share Charlie’s unironic, genuine excitement for movies that are so bad that they probably shouldn’t have been made. Something about the mistakes making it past editing and onto the big screen is so transparent and humanizing, and it makes Charlie’s heart soar with fondness every time it discovers a new one.

“Do you talk during movies?” he asks Elijah.

“Yeah,” Elijah says confidently.

“Me too.”

“I know.”

“What?”

Elijah shrugs. “You just seem like you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Charlie says.

“It is,” Elijah says. “I think so, at least.”

“You’re a movie-talker too, though,” Charlie says. “You’re biased.”

Elijah shrugs. “I stand by what I said. It’s not a bad thing to be.”

“You’re right. We probably shouldn’t this time, though,” Charlie remarks, gesturing to the patrons seated in front of them. Another group has just barreled into the row behind them, and a couple is sitting at the edge of their row on Elijah’s side. Now Charlie’s the closest to the exit of the two of them, with almost a dozen empty seats between himself and the aisle.

“Aw yeah, you’re right,” Elijah says. “I’ll just have a lot to say to you when it’s over, then.”

“Good,” Charlie says. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

The movie starts shortly after, one Charlie’s seen only a couple of times so it’s got most of his attention. He tries to be conscious enough not to check for people’s reactions when he shows them things, because he knows how uncomfortable it feels to have a pair of eyes on you when you’re trying to experience something new for the first time. Elijah’s close enough for Charlie to feel him relax as the dialogue begins, unfolding his leg and crossing it, his foot accidentally brushing against Charlie’s shin.

Charlie taps Elijah’s foot before he can whisper a hurried apology, letting him know that it’s okay.

The projector stutters and the screen flickers a little, just enough for Charlie to notice but not enough to disrupt the movie itself. It reminds him of why they braved the near-freezing evening air to come here in the first place — aside from DeCoteau’s captivatingly terrible work, of course.

When Charlie had first started working at this theater during high school, there had already been rumors buzzing about the theater. The stories changed depending on who you talked to, as all rumors go, of course, but Charlie most commonly heard people talking about the upper level of the building being haunted, a spirit messing with the projection rooms and knocking equipment around. It was natural for people to assume a building so old was haunted by _something,_ and it was probably normal for lower level employees to have restricted access to the projection rooms, but over the weekend when Charlie had mentioned his first “real” job at the Cherry Valley theater and how freaked out he’d get working there at night when he was sixteen, Elijah had pulled out something that looked like an MP3 player from 2006 and said, _I bet you’re right, there’s probably someone living up there. Let’s go Tuesday! I’ve been waiting to use_ _this_. How could he possibly have ever said no?

And Charlie trusts Elijah on this kind of matter — duh — so the plan had immediately been a go. He’d wanted to ask Elijah if he felt or saw anything when they walked in, but despite his curiosity, Charlie’s been careful not to ask too many questions in fear of making Elijah feel more like a spectacle than a person.

Charlie holds his thought when Elijah gasps just as the first of many way-too-long B-roll sequences ends, his shoulders scrunching up as he jerks forward into the top of his fist. “ _Ngkt’CH!_ ” He lowers his hand for just a moment, then shakes his head a little and brings it back up for round two. “ _...ngt’TSSch!_ ”

Charlie pats his arm in acknowledgement. With an irritated sniffle, Elijah shoots a smile Charlie’s way.

Not even five minutes later, halfway into a scene that accidentally features the cameraman by way of reflection in one of DeCoteau’s glass doors, it happens again.

“ _Ht’NGKSSh!_ ” Elijah lets out a little sigh after that one, barely audible behind the cuff of his jacket. “ _Hh’NTCHue! GH’TSCHuh!_ ”

“ _Bless you_ ,” Charlie actually whispers this time, as quietly as he can and close to Elijah’s ear so as not to disturb the rest of the audience. He thinks Elijah might be blushing, but Charlie can’t see well enough in the dark to say for sure.

“ _Thanks,_ ” Elijah says back, his voice just as hushed. He looks contemplative, his lips parted like he wants to say something else, but instead he draws his eyebrows together in frustration and sniffles, the sound muffled by the fabric of his sleeve. Charlie knocks his knee against Elijah’s, and Elijah knocks back.

Elijah spends the next half hour pawing at his face. In the short time he’s known him, Charlie has noticed Elijah’s face-touching habit, from dragging his palms down his cheeks to rubbing his eyes and nose. Somehow, his skin is still clear and acne-free, even though Elijah’s one of those people who turns pink at the slightest irritation, be it physical or emotional. Corrine calls it a “glow”, and Charlie can’t possibly think of anything more fitting.

“ _HhCHSHht!_ ” Okay, that’s sort of… “ _HhNDJH’uh!_ ” Sort of unusual. For as many times as Charlie heard Elijah sneeze during their first 24 hours (and then some) spent together, he’s come to find that Elijah sneezes an appropriate, normal amount for the average person when he’s healthy. Not that Charlie’s known him very long as it is, but even so, seven times in thirty minutes is worth a remark.

Charlie nudges Elijah and waits for him to make eye contact, after which he mouths the word, “ _Okay?_ ”

And Elijah gives him this shaky, crooked smile, transparent on top of the self-conscious slump of his shoulders. Charlie’s not exactly sure what he should do next, whether Elijah would feel put on the spot by Charlie offering to stand up and let him down the aisle, or trapped if Charlie does nothing and lets Elijah deal with what’s probably some kind of allergic distress on his own. He doesn’t know Elijah well enough to have a good gauge on his tolerance for this sort of thing, having mostly spent time with him in casual social atmospheres (around Elijah’s friends, mostly) where being disruptive wasn’t much of an issue.

Then again, Elijah’s also the kind of person to call himself out and apologize every time he so much as interjects a with a single word while someone else is talking. So really, Charlie realizes, this must be killing him.

“Hey, c’mon,” Charlie says a little louder, standing up with his spine slouched forward out of consideration for the people in the rows behind them. He extends a hand to Elijah to let him know that he wants him to come with, and Elijah stares at him for a second, confused, before gripping Charlie’s hand and hopping out of his seat.

They don’t hold hands on the way out of the auditorium. Charlie realizes this, then he realizes he’s realizing this and wonders why he was expecting to, then he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks behind him to see Elijah scrubbing the side of his nose with the very bottom of his palm.

He sneezes again the second they step out into the lobby, the sound loud and forceful enough to pick up the attention of a couple patrons at the concession stand. “ _Heh’ETSHHH’uh! HUH’EHTSSch’YEW’_ uh!”

“Christ,” Charlie says. “Oh my god. Elijah. God bless you.”

“Thank you. Just like in church,” Elijah says. He sniffles and groans, leaning his head back against the wall. “Excuse me. Sorry. Dude, you can go back in there, I think I just like, need a minute.”

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks.

“Mmm.” Elijah brings his wrist up to cover his eyes and then rubs back and forth horizontally. “Yeah. I think I’m good right now. I still feel kind of…” He drops his arm, makes eye contact with Charlie, and twitches his nose. “But I’m fine. Just sneezing.”

“I’ll stay out here with you,” Charlie volunteers. Elijah straightens up a little and opens his mouth, but Charlie continues. “Oh my god, dude, it’s fine. I’ve seen that movie like five times — it’s so not fun to watch alone. We can just, like, watch it at my house.”

Elijah deflates. “Ugh. God. Thank you. We have to, I’ll make it up to you,” he says. He starts walking toward the back of the lobby, the _EMPLOYEES_ (not “employees only”, just “employees”) sign is masking-taped onto a short red door. He rubs his nose. “You were really right about there being a ghost here, by the way.”

Charlie picks up speed, accidentally brushing against Elijah as he catches up.

“Oh! Sorry,” Elijah says hurriedly.

“Don’t be,” Charlie replies just as fast, his focus elsewhere. “Eiljah are you _allergic_ to ghosts?”

Elijah laughs as they near the door. Charlie scans the lobby, his eyes passing over the empty box office counter and a couple of teenagers pretending to vacuum the carpet, a chore he knows they’re faking not only because he used to do the same thing, but because neither of their vacuums is turned on. He figures that because he and Elijah don’t look too suspicious and the lobby is mostly empty anyway, no one will say anything about him jiggling the trick lock and beckoning Elijah inside.

“Only, uh, only sometimes, I think,” Elijah says on his way up the stairs. His voice sounds a little weird with the acoustics, carpet along the walls of the stairway and extending into the floor of the projection room.

“What?”

“Yeah.”

They reach the landing, and Charlie inhales, feeling right at home among the bulky, dated equipment and thin dusty carpeting. A row of tiny portholes extends down the narrow space, each of them offering access to a view of the now-empty auditoriums.

“Like,” Elijah continues. “I think… if they’re extra present, or something, I don’t know exactly, but I think ghosts sometimes leave behind a…” He pauses, takes his hands out of his pockets and touches his hair a little, looking at Charlie with these very darling wide eyes that emphasize how much he means what he’s saying. “A residue, sort of? Uh, that’s not the right word.”

“Like ectoplasm?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah! Oh my god, yeah. It’s sort of like that,” Elijah says. “Only it’s airborne and it doesn’t really stick to things, I don’t know how to explain it. Um…” He looks up at the low and paneled ceiling, which he’s tall enough to be just inches from touching. “Like when you spray a lot of perfume and it’s really sharp in the air? Only there’s no smell or anything, just that powerful feeling, you know…”

“Yeah,” Charlie says when Elijah starts to trail off. “Mm-hmm.”

“I think I’m like, sensitive to it?” Elijah says. “I mean! Okay. Ah. I mean, obviously, because I can tell it’s there at all, but also I mean sensitive like I… get an allergic reaction. Like at your Aunt Lillian’s?”

So that’s what that was. “Are you okay?” Charlie asks. Amidst the usual, swarming questions in his non-psychic civilian brain, that one had felt the most appropriate.

“I’m so okay,” Elijah confirms. His eyes dart around the projection room, wide with his eyebrows up, a sweet and inquisitive look that Charlie’s dearly familiar with already and doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to seeing. “There’s definitely some of that in here, but it’s not like, all the time.”

“Has this always happened to you?” Charlie asks.

Elijah shakes his head ‘no’. “It started kinda recently, like a couple years ago, but I didn’t start putting two and two together until last time.”

“You’re alright though,” Charlie asks, his statement sounding tentative like he’s looking for confirmation.

“Charlie.” Elijah steps closer and leans his forehead against Charlie’s hair. Charlie can smell whatever deodorant or cologne he’s wearing, something sharp and sweet and earthy that contrasts against the stale scent of dusty carpet in the projection room. “I promise. I’m fine. It’s just the same stuff as always. Are _you_ okay?”

When he breaks the contact, Charlie nods. He sees Elijah’s eyes go wide again, and his expression changes just before he grabs both of Charlie’s arms and slowly pulls him further toward the back wall.

“Look,” he says, hushed and urgent, pointing at a film reel sitting in the center on top of a cabinet near one of the projectors. “That’s going to tip over.”

“What?” Charlie asks. “How do you kn—”

Metal clangs against wood as the reel stutters on top of the cabinet before tumbling toward the floor, rolling for just a second before it halts at the wall and falls right back down on its side. Elijah shoots Charlie this excited little grin, his eyes bright and teeth showing.

“What,” Charlie says again. “Oh my god.”

“God!” Elijah agrees. “Ooh. I’m happy you got to see that. I think that was your first one.”

“My first one,” Charlie repeats.

“Yeah, when they move things,” Elijah clarifies. “Are you okay? Allison was really freaking out when it happened to her.”

“Oh, um…” Charlie takes a deep breath, because it’d be stupid to say _I was too distracted by your smile to remember to be afraid of ghosts_ , but he’d never gotten that terrifying thrill around ghosts while with Elijah anyway, in lieu of an excited fascination. “Dude, how do people not believe in this stuff? When something like that happens?”

“I know! It’s so real.”

“So, what’s…” Charlie struggles. “I mean, is there…? Like, how did you…?”

“Okay, so,” Elijah says, turning to reach into his pocket. “Whatever’s here is really, like, grounded to this room. Sometimes spirits can leave but this one definitely can’t.”

Charlie really wants to perch on top of the now-empty cabinet, but he knows better. He tenses the muscles in his thighs instead and keeps his body still. “Is it here now?”

“Oh yeah,” Elijah says. “It isn’t s-strong enough to see but. Oh yeah it’s here. H-hang— on—! _hh’CHZSHh’ue! Eht’TSSchYEW!_ Okay. So um…”

“Bless you.”

“I know right. Thank you.” Elijah pulls out that weird little plastic digital whatever-it-is from before and rubs his thumb over the seam on its side as he sniffles. “Usually when a ghost has such a concentrated presence and enough strength to mess with stuff like that roll of film, it means, um, they really want to communicate something, I think?” he says, holding up the device. “And I think this can maybe…”

“What does it do?” Charlie asks. “Like, it lets you actually talk to them? Is that what you’re saying?”

Elijah sniffles again. “No, I don’t think so.” He starts hitting buttons. “I think it’s supposed to pick up frequencies that we can’t physically hear, so if the ghost is trying to say something, then…? But I’ve never used one before. Somebody gave it to me a few days ago.”

“That’s awesome.” For someone who cares about ghosts, Charlie feels a little embarrassed asking his next question. “What’s it called?”

Elijah holds the device closer to his face and squints. “...Olympus…” he reads. “No. That’s the brand. It’s, um, I think some kind of EVP recorder? I should know that, right? Sorry.”

“I’m so relieved, actually,” Charlie says, letting out a breath. “I didn’t know what it was called either and I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of amateur.”

“I’d never — _huh’GHTSShuh!_ I’d never think you were… _hpTSSH’YEW!_ Um, excuse me. I’d never think you weren’t an amateur. Charlie. You’re brand new.”

“You say that, but you and I have exactly the same amount of EVP experience right now. God bless you.”

“Thanks, newbie.”

The way Elijah is hunched over the sound reader reminds Charlie of a teenager with their MP3 player, not just because the device looks _exactly_ like the ones everyone was using when he was in middle school, but because the way he holds himself up looks like he just had a growth spurt and isn’t sure what to do with his limbs yet. However, Elijah definitely isn’t a teenager, and given his age, Charlie guesses that he’s been this tall for six years at the very, very least.

That kind of physical awkwardness shouldn’t be so endearing, but just watching Elijah _stand there_ has Charlie thinking it’s the cutest thing in the world. Something’s up with him.

“Okay.” Elijah sniffles, tilting his head. “I think I got it. Come over here?”

Three and a half steps later (it should have been four, because Charlie’s counting, and three isn’t the best number to stop on, but it’s fine, he’s talking to ghosts with Elijah and it’s fine, fine fine fine fine, that's four fines and he's fine), Charlie’s standing next to Elijah and looking over his shoulder. It’s still pretty dark and he can’t see much, but Elijah holds the device a little closer and Charlie doesn’t stare at him when he bounces a little on his heels.

“What do you want to ask it?” Elijah asks.

“What, like… anything?” Charlie replies.

“Yeah. Anything.”

“...I can’t think of a question.”

“Okay. I’ve got one,” Elijah says. He clears his throat, then he clears his throat a second time and shakes his head a little. “Spirit of the Projection Room. How does _1313: Hercules Unbound!_ end?”

“Hey!” Charlie punches him in the arm. “You’ll spoil it! No way. Different question!”

Elijah laughs. “Okay okay. Okay. Spirit of the Lost Films, what is your least favorite movie of all time?”

“God, you just went right for the small talk, didn’t you?” Charlie says. “No _What would put your spirit at rest?_ , no _How did you die?_ , nothing!”

“Those questions are so typical,” Elijah says. “And so personal. I wouldn’t give _my_ whole life story to someone who didn’t bother making small talk with me first. I’m just being courteous.”

Charlie shrugs. “I guess you’re the pro here,” he finally admits. “Sorry, I guess we should give it a chance to answer.”

“It’s fine,” Elijah says. “I’ll ask a different question. I think it hated that one.”

“You can tell?”

“I…” Elijah keeps his arm up so Charlie still has a view of the EVP recorder, but turns away into his opposite bicep to sneeze, his shoulders jumping up as he lurches forward each time. “ _EhCHSHH’ue!_ Yeah, I — _huhCHZSHYEW!_ Sorry. Yeah, I can… um… _huhEHTschYEW!_ God, ex- _cuse_ me, sorry—”

“Bless you.” Unsure about the fragility of the EVP recorder, Charlie steadies Elijah’s arm as it jostles.

“Thanks. Um. Sorry. What was I…?”

“Talking about if you can hear the ghosts or not,” Charlie supplies.

“Okay. So, um, I... I can’t really _hear them_ hear them, most of the time, but it’s like I can… feel… their emotions, sort of. Sorry, okay, that probably sounds—”

“Wow. So you’re like a ghost empath.”

“Yeah.” Elijah smiles all the way up to his eyes, and their faces are close enough for Charlie to see the creases at the corners.

“Okay, I have a question now,” Charlie says. “Is it…?”

Elijah presses a button and knocks his shoulder into Charlie’s. “Yeah, it’s ready.”

“So do I just…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, You can just ask it.”

“Okay,” Charlie says. “Spirit of the, um… shit. What did you call it last time?”

“ _Hh’ESZCHhyew!_ You get to… _EH’TSZCHHuh!_ ”

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.” Elijah sniffles a couple times. “You get to call it whatever you want until it tells you its name.”

“I know,” Charlie says. “But I don’t want to copy you. No reruns.”

“I don’t know if ‘rerun’ is the right—”

Charlie begins his communication. “Ghost of Projections Past…”

“Nice.”

“Thanks. Ghost of Projections Past, are you…” Charlie clears his throat. “Are you having a nice night?”

“Oh my god, Charlie.”

“You said small talk!”

“That’s, like, microscopic talk. That’s atomic talk.”

“I’m _awesome_ at small talk, actually. I’m breaking the ice. I guess we should give it a chance to respond, though.”

“It’s okay,” Elijah says, holding out the device while he sniffles. He presses the same button twice. “Ask it again.”

“Cool. Okay,” Charlie says. “Spirit of Inappropriately Carpeted Walls in the Projection Room, are we the first people to come up here with an MP3 player to talk to you?”

Elijah opens his mouth, then he goes rigid and waits, still holding the device out into the air to get a good reading. He stays like that for a moment, and Charlie waits along with him. Maybe he should have asked how long they’d have to stand in silence each time, but Charlie’s motor control is generally pretty good, so he figures he’ll be fine. The room is awfully quiet though, aside from a clacking sound coming from somewhere off in the corner and the very subtle, congested whistle of Elijah’s breathing being the only sounds coming to light. Charlie probably wouldn’t have noticed either one of them otherwise.

“Okay, do you think that’s enough time?” Elijah finally asks.

“Enough time for…?”

“Oh. For the ghost to answer. It seemed, like interested, but I don’t know, it might just be waiting on… waiting on us now…!”

“Are you—”

“ _HuhEHSZHYEW!_ Ahh god. _HehESSHhuh!_ Okay okay. Here, listen.”

Elijah sniffles some more and presses another button, then holds the recorder up closer. The sound that comes out is grainy and almost blurred out, like the kind you get when you’re watching TV with bad reception. Elijah murmurs something about hating his voice and Charlie almost calls him ridiculous, because what a ridiculous thing for Elijah (specifically) to say, and then there’s this double-staccato, fuzzy shifting sound, and Elijah’s eyebrows furrow close together in consideration.

“I think that was an answer,” he says.

“That was just you sniffling,” Charlie says, shaking his head. Elijah looks a little embarrassed at that, so Charlie pats him reassuringly, because it’s fine. His own voice plays back through the device’s tiny round speaker and Charlie thinks he sounds alright, but his question to the ghost is met mostly with more white noise.

“I think the ghost doesn’t know what an MP3 player is,” Elijah says. There’s some more crackling from the recording, and then he says, “Wait,” and hands the device to Charlie. Charlie holds it up to his right ear and listens to Elijah sneeze with his left. “ _Eht’CHZSHh! Eh’hhCHSHyew!_ ”

“I think it said ‘no’,” Charlie reports when Elijah’s done, trying not to smile as he watches Elijah press down with his knuckle and rub against the side of his nose. “Listen.”

Elijah tilts his head so his ear is closer to the speaker as Charlie plays that section of the recording again.  A deeper sound comes through, louder than the grainy white noise, short and sounding vaguely like a vowel.

“It was either ‘no’ or ‘go’,” Elijah says as Charlie offers the device back to him. His consonants are sounding pinched now, like he’s getting congested.

“Like, telling us to get out?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we — Oh, sorry. _Spirit_ of the Tiniest Commercial Attic in Cherry Valley,” Elijah corrects, “are we being super annoying?”

Both of them wait for a few beats, and Elijah gets ready to play the recording back.

“Can you tell if it’s answering?” Charlie asks. “Like, psychic-ly?”

“Psychic-ly,” Elijah repeats. He shrugs as part of his answer. “It doesn’t seem very interested in us. This whole time it’s been kind of… flat.”

When Elijah plays the recording back, Charlie says, “It didn’t say anything that time.”

“I think that means yes,” Elijah guesses. “Maybe it hates our nicknames.” He presses the record button one more time. “Let’s try another. It’s your turn.”

“Ghost of the Spirit of—”

“ _NGKT’ch!_ ”

“Bless you.”

“ _Hh’EHSHyew!_ Thanks. Sorry.”

“Ghost of the Spirit of, um.” Of making Elijah sneeze _so much?_ “Of Vintage Movie Buffs. Is this a bad time for you? Should we come back another day?”

After the waiting period, Elijah stops the recording and sneezes immediately. “ _HehCHZSHh’UH!_ ”

“ _Bless_ you,” Charlie says.

“Jesus. Thank you.” Elijah sniffles and holds the back of his hand against his nose and mouth. “ _HUH’GTSHhyew!_ Oh my god. This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you’re not sounding great.”

“I think I sound better than, uh…” Elijah shakes the EVP recorder back and forth as he hits the playback button. Charlie hears his own voice again, and then he hears Elijah’s sneezing played back to him and notices how fond he sounds when he says _bless you_ and wonders if he’s been saying it like that this entire time. “Hmm. Maybe not,” Elijah murmurs to Charlie, a little self-consciously, just before the question ends.

And after that? Nothing.

“Dude, I think… this might be a bust,” Elijah admits. “Sorry. Sometimes ghosts are like that.”

Charlie shrugs. “Yeah, but at least we _know_ it’s here. Do you think it’ll move something else to prove it before we go?”

Elijah looks up at the ceiling and tilts his head. “I’m not getting anything right now. I think it’s totally over this.”

“What, so it knocks something over to make an entrance and then leaves without saying goodbye?”

“I know. It’s super rude.”

“Downright inconsiderate.”

Elijah sniffles and switches the device off, then shoves it back in his pocket. “Sorry,” he says again. “I think most of the time ghosts are actually kind of boring. They’re not really into hanging out unless they want something.”

“They make vengeful spirits seem so common in movies,” Charlie says as he opens the door for Elijah to start heading back to the lobby. Neither of them bother picking up the fallen film reel from where the ghost had left it.

“Let’s go to your house,” Elijah says over his shoulder on the way down. “We can finish the movie. The boom mic falling into frame and hitting one of the actor-models on the head half a dozen times will give us our fill of vengeance.”

Once he follows him through the lobby, Charlie refrains from guiding Elijah through the autumn-chilled parking lot by the small of his back, excited for the rest of his evening to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> i wonder if a common theme for these is going to be that ghosts don't do shit and even if you're literally able to communicate with them using your psychic powers you are still not gonna be able to get much out of them. ghosts can be boring dumbasses just like living people (but they can also be crazy cool and fun, maybe, if you're patient enough to stick it through long enough to find the right one)
> 
> please let me know what you thought!!!!! i'm thinking of writing a part 2 to this, maybe from elijah's perspective at charlie's apartment (that he keeps calling a house because that's what he's like)
> 
> also, i'm trying not to talk too much in here, but everyone i know should watch the 1313 series and thank me later


End file.
